Flinch
by elbcw
Summary: 'We only need one man,' said the man holding him, quietly in his ear, 'if you keep struggling I will let my friend kill your friend…is that what you want' D'Artagnan and Aramis regret drinking too much on a night out.
1. Chapter 1

Authors note: this is for pallydeeks, who likes a bit of d'Artagnan whump, and introduced me to a fabulous new swearword. (But I still had to whump Aramis a bit).

Flinch

Chapter One

They had definitely had too much to drink. Which was not a good idea. They were both on guard duty at the Palace in the morning. But one drink had led to another, and to another. Aramis knew that they would probably be admonished by Athos. D'Artagnan was not good at hiding a hangover, he would probably be throwing up at morning muster.

They stumbled out of the tavern, Aramis was practically holding his young friend up. It was dark and raining. Aramis decided that his rooms were closer, he would get them both back there and, with luck and a few hours' sleep they could present themselves in the morning in a reasonable state. Until d'Artagnan gave the game away by falling asleep or something. Aramis was not sure what d'Artagnan would do, but it would be him that got them in trouble for drinking too much.

As they made their way along the road Aramis was aware of d'Artagnan pulling them over to the side. The young man threw up, quite spectacularly thought Aramis as he steadied his friend. Then Aramis found he needed to follow suit. Once they had both divested themselves of some of the copious amounts of alcohol in their systems they were both able to stand a little straighter. Although Aramis did think that d'Artagnan looked a little blurry, but that might have been his issue and not his friends.

They resumed their chaotic walk, the rain grew heavier. Aramis found it refreshing, and sobering as it was cold. He quickened his pace slightly dragging d'Artagnan with him. The young man was walking on his own now, but they were still holding onto each other for support.

They rounded a corner into a quieter road, only one street away from Aramis' rooms and an escape from the now pouring rain.

Aramis found himself, quite unexpectedly, on the ground. He did not know how that had happened. He tried to push himself up but a sudden explosion of pain in his head prevented him.

MMMM

When he sobered up, he was going to punch Aramis. The man was a very bad influence on him. One more drink, he had said. Then another and another. He felt awful. As they made their way along the road after they had both thrown up he was glad of the rain. Although it was cold it was helping to wake him up a bit. He did not need to hang onto Aramis' arm quite so tightly to keep up right now. He knew they were heading towards Aramis' rooms. He decided as punishment for making him drink too much, because it was entirely Aramis' fault, he was getting the bed. Aramis could sleep on the floor.

They rounded the corner of the next road. He was aware of someone walking up to him quickly, he tried to turn to them, but was thrown off balance when Aramis stumbled to the floor. The stranger grabbed him and twisted him round, pushing him into a wall. He was aware of Aramis trying to get up, a second man was standing over him, he kicked Aramis viciously in the head. The marksman crashed back down and did not move again.

The shock of the assault on his friend sobered D'Artagnan considerably, he started to struggle against the man holding him. The second man came over and helped the first to pin him to the wall. A rag was stuffed into his mouth and his arms pulled back. They bound his wrists behind him. He continued to struggle and tried to shout out. The man holding him pushed him hard against the wall using his body weight to keep him there, making it difficult to breath.

'We only need one man,' said the man holding him quietly in his ear, 'if you keep struggling I will let my friend kill your friend…is that what you want?'

D'Artagnan looked around at the still form of Aramis lying on the ground. Bruises were already forming on the side of his face where he had been kicked. The second man who had attacked them walked back over, he knelt beside Aramis, grabbed him by the hair, and pulled his head back. D'Artagnan struggled again when the man pulled out a knife and held it to the unconscious musketeer's throat.

'Do you want us to kill him?' asked the man holding d'Artagnan again.

The second man was pressing the knife into the flesh of Aramis' throat, a thin trickle of blood snaked down the pale flesh. D'Artagnan quickly shook his head. The second man looked a little disappointed. He let go of Aramis, his head hitting the ground with a smack. As the first man continued to hold d'Artagnan firmly against the wall the second man pulled Aramis' arms behind him and bound them tightly, pulling the injured man's shoulders backwards in the process. Aramis' legs were also bound at the ankles and the knees. He was gagged firmly. The man dragged the unconscious and bound marksman to the side of the road and deposited him, with no regard for his injuries behind a couple of crates.

D'Artagnan realised his friend might not be found for hours or even days, he struggled again and tried to speak through the gag. But the man holding him just pushed him harder into the wall. Once the other man had finished concealing Aramis he crossed back to him and the first man.

'You are going to walk, sensibly, with us,' said the first man, 'or my friend is going to come back and slit his throat…and that might not be all he does to your friend before he is killed…do you understand.'

D'Artagnan nodded. They pulled him off the wall and began to walk him along the road, keeping to the shadows. He did not know where they were going, or if he would get an opportunity to escape and get back to Aramis before their attackers did.

MMMM


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The tavern keeper had seen them leave, he told Athos and Porthos when they went to enquire. He told them that their two missing friends had been a little the worse for wear. One of the regulars said that he had seen them heading along the road.

When neither Aramis or d'Artagnan had appeared at morning muster Treville had reluctantly allowed Athos and Porthos to look for them. Athos was angry, he was expecting to find them passed out somewhere after drinking too much. They all did it occasionally; let off a bit of steam with a heavy session in the tavern. But it still worried whichever of them was left wondering where their friends were.

After checking their rooms and finding no sign, they had visited the tavern. The road the regular customer had seen their missing friends heading along would have led to Aramis' rooms. They carefully retraced the route looking for any sign they might have missed.

The most direct route would take them along main roads but Porthos suggested that given their inebriated state Aramis may have taken them along a quieter road to reach his rooms from the back, so as not to wake the landlord.

They reached the quiet road and turned into it. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance, but Athos noticed something on the ground, he pointed it out to Porthos who bent down to investigate. He frowned and looked up at Athos.

'I think it's blood.'

Athos looked around, the ground near the blood splashes was churned up. It looked like something had been dragged across the road. He looked up, following the trail to the side of the road. A couple of crates had been left there, but they were not pushed flush against the wall. He walked across to them as Porthos stood up and followed him.

Aramis was lying, bound and gagged behind the crates. He was unconscious. Porthos pushed the crates out of the way so that they could get to their friend. Athos pulled a small dagger from his boot and started to cut the ropes that bound their friend. His arms were pulled behind him, his hands were red due to the tightness of the rope which had cut into his wrists, grazing them. There was rope tightly around his knees and ankles, whoever had left Aramis clearly did not want him to get away easily. If they had not been actively looking for him he could have remained hidden there for some time.

Porthos untied the gag and pulled it gently from his friend's mouth. His face was covered in bruises. One eye was swollen shut, and a cut above his eyebrow was still bleeding sluggishly. Now that he was unbound they rolled him onto his back. Porthos ran his hands over the unconscious musketeer's limbs and torso searching for any injuries. Aramis was wet from the rain the night before. The only other mark he could find was a scratch to his throat that, judging from the manner he had been left, was probably from a knife.

Athos sat back on his heels. He wondered what had happened. There was no sign of d'Artagnan. Had Aramis been left for later collection? Had d'Artagnan been taken by who ever had attacked Aramis?

'We need to get 'im back to the garrison,' said Porthos grimly.

MMMM

He was walked, held firmly, by the two men for about half a mile. He was taken into a house and forced down some steps into a cellar. Again, he found himself pushed firmly into a wall. He had remained compliant, the threat to Aramis' life still ringing in his ears.

The cellar was dark, except for a small shaft of light from a street level window. It was too murky for d'Artagnan to be able to make out anything within the cellar.

One of the men had walked further into the room, he returned with a strip of cloth. The cloth was placed over d'Artagnan's eyes depriving him of his sight. His breathing quickened, and his heart beat follow suit.

They walked him a few steps then turned him around. He listened intently. The men did not speak or seem to communicate in any way. The rope around his wrist was pushed up his arms, pulling his shoulders back in the process. He let out a moan of pain. He could feel ropes being tied around his right wrist and then his left. The original rope was removed and he was able to relax his shoulders. A few seconds rest was all he was allowed; his wrists were pulled away from his body and out to the side. He found himself leaning against the wall of the cellar, not a stone wall as he would have expected but a wooden one. His arms were pulled taught to each side, not painfully so, but enough that he had very little movement to either side.

One of the men began undoing his doublet, he felt something tugging at the collar and heard a rip. His doublet loosened. He realised they were cutting the leather jacket off him. It took them a few minutes. D'Artagnan kept as still as he could, trying to regulate and calm his breathing. Once the jacket was gone he felt exposed, as if the leather was part of his defences.

The men stepped away. He could make out a quite conversation in front of him. But he could not discern what they were saying.

MMMM

With no other obvious injury to his friend Porthos had pulled Aramis up and carried him back to the garrison slung over his shoulder. It had not been far and he was too angry to care that he was exhausted with the effort when they reached the garrison. Three cadets rushed forward to help carry the unconscious musketeer, gently taking Aramis from Porthos who swayed a bit when his burden had been relieved from him. Athos put his hand on his arm to steady him.

'Clean him up, I'll tell Treville,' Athos said, releasing the big musketeer when he was sure he was steady again.

As Athos made his way up to Treville's room Porthos stalked over to the infirmary where the cadets were busy seeing to Aramis. He pushed them out of the way, shooing them from the room. What Aramis needed was peace. Porthos was worried about his friends continued unconsciousness. The bruising to his head and face indicated he had taken quite a blow, maybe more than one. The cut above his eye would need stitches.

He knew that Aramis would not thank him, but he had every intention of stitching the wound himself. He needed to stay with his friend. He needed to be there the instant he woke up. When Aramis regained consciousness, they would need him to tell them what had happened. They needed to know where d'Artagnan was.

Porthos went about stripping Aramis of his wet clothes, the marksman was soon covered in dry blankets. Porthos began to gently clean the wound above his friends' eye. It was still bleeding slightly. Once cleaned Porthos stitched the wound. Four stitches closed the nasty injury. There was little he could do for the bruising. Black and purple marks covered his friends face. He soaked a cloth in cold water lay it over the bruising, all he could do was try to reduce the swelling.

Despite the treatment he had received Aramis remained stubbornly unconscious.

MMMM


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

'And there is no sign of d'Artagnan?' asked Treville after hearing Athos' report of the mornings events.

'No,' replied Athos.

'Odd that he was tied up and hidden…do you think they intended to return for him?'

'I believe so, I would like to mount a surveillance of the road, it might be our only way of finding d'Artagnan. It is quite possible even when he wakes up, Aramis will not know what happened.'

'Yes, of course, take a couple of cadets with you, you may need to get a message back to us quickly,' Athos turned to leave, pausing as Treville continued, 'be careful, the people who did this clearly think they are above the law.'

Athos nodded his agreement and left the room, closing the door behind him. He quickly made his way across to the infirmary. Entering the room, he found Porthos sat beside Aramis. Now that he had been cleaned up the bruising to his face looked worse. The wound had been stitched and Porthos was busy with cool cloths, trying to bring the swelling to Aramis' face down.

Porthos looked up as Athos walked over to them, 'he's not showing any signs of waking.'

'I'm going to mount a surveillance of the road where we found him. I think he was left like that so that they could return. With luck, we can follow any suspicious people back to wherever they are holding d'Artagnan,' he paused sighing, 'it's not much, but we have nothing else to go on.'

'I'll stay with 'im, in case he does know where d'Artagnan is. I take it there will be a search anyway?'

'Yes, Treville is organising it.'

Porthos nodded and returned to the task of caring for his silent friend. Athos retreated, there was little else he could do here. He crossed the garrison training ground, he spotted two cadets that he held in high regard. Marcel and Guy were promising young men, they would not have a problem gaining their commissions soon enough. He gestured to them, they walked up ready to receive orders. Athos explained what he needed of them, they both nodded and hurried off to collect their coats and weapons.

Within five minutes Athos was back out on the streets of Paris with the two cadets in tow. They returned to the place where Aramis had been found. Athos repositioned the crates as they had been before Porthos moved them to get to Aramis. They looked about for a suitable spot to mount a surveillance. Guy pointed at a window opposite. Athos nodded. They knocked on the door of the house which looked over the quiet road.

An elderly man opened the door, he smiled as the door swung open, but took on a look of shock to find three determined looking soldiers on his doorstep.

'We need to use your house for the Kings business,' said Athos. He did not give the man a chance to reply, he gently moved the man aside and entered the small property, the two cadets following.

The man meekly followed them into the room where the window overlooked the side road.

Athos turned to the man and with a more civil tone said, 'I apologies for the intrusion sir, but we must mount a surveillance of this road. We are merely going to sit here and look out of the window, we will not disturb you any further.'

The man, whose initial shock had worn off nodded and said, 'of course sir, my name is Jalabert, but please, I am a lonely man, please tell me what brings you to need to look out of my window?'

Athos managed a smile saying, 'thank you, monsieur, my friend is in danger and I believe the people who took him may come back here.'

Jalabert took a seat, eager to hear the whole story.

MMMM

The room was quiet. He was trying to make out the breathing of the other two men, but it was difficult, his own breathing covering any quiet noises. He had tried to calm his breathing down but found it impossible. He was restrained, deprived of his sight and voice, he felt vulnerable, helpless.

It felt like he had been tied up for hours, but he suspected it was only a few minutes. He was uncomfortable, with his arms stretched out to the side. He could not decide if he should relax them. When he did, it put pressure on his wrists, but if he held them it put pressure on the muscles of his arms and shoulders. He already felt fatigued and he had no idea how long he would have to endure this treatment. The silence continued.

The first noise he heard made him jump. A thud to his left, he looked towards the noise, he did not know why, he would not be able to see whatever had made the noise. Another thud, this time to his right, he jumped again, his breathing quickening. Another thud to his right, lower down this time, again he jumped. He waited, expecting another, but nothing happened. He waited, he relaxed slightly.

Thud.

He jumped again. This time the thud had been closer to his head. It was quickly followed by another thud. But this time when he jumped he became aware of pain in his side. It felt like a stab wound. He tried to move to the side but could not due to the ropes holding his arms out. The stinging pain in his side, did not feel serious, but he was beginning to understand what was happening. Each thud he heard was a knife being thrown. It was landing, embedded in the wooden wall he was tied to. What he did not know was if the one that had nicked his side had been an accident or not.

Were they trying to hit him, or miss him?

He pulled tentatively at his restraints as he heard footsteps approach him. The knives were being pulled from the wall, one at a time, the last one pulled out was the one that had hit him. Whichever man was in front of him, wiped the knife on his shirt after pulling it from the wall. Then they walked away again. The room returned to silence.

MMMM

Authors note: I hope you are enjoying this so far. Thanks for all the reviews. My work shifts mean that the next chapter will be up quicker (tomorrow morning UK time). I hope you don't mind!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Porthos sat forward as Aramis groaned. The injured man turned his head to the side and winced in pain. When Porthos put his hand on his friends shoulder he jumped, surprised by the contact. He moaned in pain again.

'Sorry,' said Porthos quietly, 'how do you feel?'

Aramis turned his head towards Porthos slowly, peering at him with his one good eye. He moved his hand up to his face, Porthos stopped him before he could touch the wound over his eye.

'Easy,' he said gently pushing the wandering hand away, 'you were attacked. We found you near your rooms…can you remember what happened?'

Aramis looked at him, confusion evident on his pained face. His eyes wandered a little before refocusing on Porthos.

'What happened?' he asked.

'That's what I asked you,' said Porthos worried about his friend's demeanour.

Aramis looked around again. He tried to touch his face again. Porthos stopped him. He blinked a few times before his eyes remained closed.

'Aramis?'

The marksman did not respond. Porthos sighed and leaned back in his chair. He could only hope that Athos was having more luck, or that the search would turn up their missing musketeer.

MMMM

He was taking short panting breaths, each time he heard the thud he flinched. It was tiring. The knives were thrown at different intervals, there was no pattern. One would be thrown landing close to him; thud. There would be a pause, then one would land further away, but it would still cause him to finch. He could not anticipate them. There was no tell-tale sound that a knife had been thrown. The first he knew about it each time, was the thud of it embedding itself into the wood.

Every few throws someone would approach and pull the knifes out. He had tried to count the knives, to predict when they would come towards him to collect them again. But sometimes they came after only two of three throws, at one point he counted ten throws before the knives were collected.

There was no pattern. He had not been hit again. But some of the knives had come close enough to tug at the fabric of his shirt, he knew that if he moved his torso he would feel the blade.

He thought that the men had very good aim. If he were to move when they were mid throw he may inadvertently put himself in the path of the knife. He had to keep very still.

But he was exhausted. How long had he been here?

MMMM

After he had told Jalabert what had happened the little man thought for a few moments. Athos waited, anticipating the man saying something.

'I sleep lightly and did not hear anything last night. If your man was taken from here they did it quietly. Although the treatment the other soldier received suggests that they had planned what they were going to do.'

Athos nodded, he glanced over at Guy who was intently watching out of the window. He knew that between the three of them a constant vigil of the spot they had found Aramis could be maintained.

'I agree, which is why we think they will return,' said Athos. He hoped he was correct, the longer that d'Artagnan remained missing the more likely it was that he would not be found.

'I listen to people in the marketplace,' said Jalabert after a pause, 'I heard some people talking about young men going missing…not entirely unusual, but there seems to have been a few go missing very close to here,' he paused as Athos sat forward, 'I don't know if it might be related.'

Athos rose from the seat, 'Guy, Marcel, I am going back to the garrison, stay here and keep watch. If someone comes looking for Aramis, follow them, discreetly. Do not engage with them,' he waited for them both to nod, then continued, 'when you know where they are going one of you report back to me at the garrison whilst the other keeps watch.'

As he walked from the room he turned to Jalabert, 'thank you, monsieur, that information may be useful.'

Jalabert nodded, 'I hope it is.'

MMMM

The man approached again and removed the knives from around him. He was struggling to stay awake, his head lolling forward. He wanted to sleep, but the thud of the knife shocked him each time it hit.

'HEY!'

D'Artagnan snapped his head up, suddenly alert at the shout. He began breathing fast again, pulling weakly at the ropes.

The man retreated again. Thud. To his right. Thud. Further down to his left. Thud. To the left of his head, close that time.

Thud.

He moaned. The knife had hit his arm, slicing into the flesh of his right bicep.

Thud. Lower on the left. Thud. Above his right arm, close to the one that had hit him.

He waited for the next one, but it did not come. He waited. He could feel his head falling forward again. Thud. Close on his left. The inevitable flinch bringing alertness.

The man approached again, pulling the knives away. The one that had cut his arm was wiped on his sleeve. D'Artagnan yelled through the gag. He had been quiet up to that point, but he felt overwhelmed by the constant wakefulness. The constant fear. He was scared and he would be happy to admit it.

The man walked away again, he had made no contact. D'Artagnan would have even settled for a slap or punch to stop him shouting. He continued shouting for a few minutes, but eventually he could not shout any more. He was thirsty, the fabric gag seemed to have leeched any moisture in his mouth away. His head fell forward again.

Thud.

He flinched.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Porthos looked up as Athos entered the infirmary. He shook his head before Athos could ask the question.

'He woke for a couple of minutes. But he wasn't makin' any sense. I don't think he'll be able to help us.'

Athos sighed and nodded, 'stay with him. The man whose house we are using to watch from said that other men have been disappearing in that area. I've instructed the search team to question people in the area to see if we can find…something.'

Aramis stirred again, opening his eyes, Porthos leaned forward, to put himself in sight of the injured man.

Aramis managed to focus on his friend, 'what happened?'

'You were attacked, do you remember anything?'

Aramis looked away again, he appeared to be thinking. Athos approached the bed on the other side. Again, Aramis tried to touch his injury, Porthos pushing the hand away. He blinked a few times, trying to focus.

He shook his head slowly, 'I don't remember.'

Despite the negative answer Porthos breathed a sigh a relief. Aramis appeared to be making sense this time.

'What's the last thing you do remember?' asked Athos.

'Throwing up on the way back from the tavern with d'Artagnan…' he started, and tried to sit up, 'd'Artaganan?'

Porthos pushed the marksman back down onto the bed firmly. The action of trying to sit up and the sudden movement had caused the injured man to wince in pain again and momentarily lose his focus.

'D'Artagnan is missing,' said Athos, 'we were hoping you would remember something.'

Aramis frowned a look of concern crossing his face, 'I'm sorry.'

'We'll find him,' said Athos in an attempt to reassure Aramis, although he did not sound convincing.

MMMM

Thud. Flinch. Thud. Flinch. Thud. Flinch.

It was relentless. Occasionally they fell into a routine of throws. D'Artagnan found he started to relax. Then there would be a pause and his anxiety would rise. Waiting for the next thud.

He had been hit twice more. Once on the side and once on the shoulder. The cut to his side felt deeper than the others, he wondered if it was bleeding. He could not tell. He was panting again. The position he was in making it difficult to take a deep breath.

He wanted it to end. Thud. Wanted it to stop. Thud.

Thud.

He realised he had stopped flinching.

MMMM

Marcel looked up from the book he was reading. Jalabert had a fair number of books and had been only too pleased to allow the cadet to look though them. He watched as Guy sat forward watching through the window.

'Someone has just walked over to the crates where they found Aramis,' said Guy, 'he doesn't look happy. It must be the one who attacked them.'

Marcel went to the front door, he slipped out and made his way to the corner and peered round. He could see the man looking around, obviously annoyed. The man kicked one of the crates in frustration. The man looked up and down the road before retreating along the quiet road. Marcel followed, knocking on the outside of the window as he went passed. He knew Guy was still watching though the window.

Within a few seconds Guy was following the man with Marcel. They kept close to the wall as they went. They did not have to follow for long. The man entered a house, closing the door firmly behind them.

Marcel crossed to the house and casually walked passed it. He carefully looked through the windows as he did so, he saw no sign of the man. A light low down caught his eye, a small window to allow daylight into a cellar. He glanced about, there was no one else nearby. He crouched down and peered inside. After a few seconds, he stood up and walked quickly back to Guy who was stood, leaning against a building opposite doing his best not to look conspicuous.

'He's in there,' Marcel indicated the house, 'I'll get back to the garrison.'

Guy nodded, 'be quick,' was all he said as Marcel hurried away.

MMMM

Aramis was sitting in the bed, slowly drinking a cup of water under Porthos' watchful gaze. He was able to see from both eyes now, the swelling slowly going down. He knew he was concussed, and had to wait for the symptoms to subside.

What worried him more was the lack of any sign of d'Artagnan.

He had no recollection of what had happened. Porthos had told him they had found him bound and gagged. Hidden away. It was very strange.

He felt guilty for being drunk when they were attacked. If they had not been drinking they would have been more alert and probably not attacked. This situation could have been prevented, if he had not led d'Artagnan on. If he had not encouraged the young man to have another drink. If anything had happened to d'Artagnan because of his actions he did not think he would be able to forgive himself.

'Hey, stop blaming yourself,' said Porthos.

Aramis wondered if his friend could read minds.

'You were both drinking. They could have taken you and left d'Artagnan. It could have been you missing.'

'I know, but…'

Porthos stopped him, 'no, Aramis, stop it.'

Aramis looked at him and nodded, 'sorry…how is the search going?'

'Athos said that four men 'ave disappeared recently. None have turned up,' said Porthos, not wishing to lie to his friend, but equally not enjoying giving him the negative update.

The door opened, Treville entered, he wasted no time with pleasantries, 'Marcel has returned. They've found d'Artagnan,' he looked at Porthos who looked at Aramis.

'Go, I'll be fine, I won't move from the bed…get him back.'

Porthos did not need to be told twice. Aramis did not want Porthos to feel he had to stay to keep an eye on him. Getting d'Artagnan back was more important.

MMMM


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Three more times the knife was thrown and he did not flinch. It confused him, was he somehow used to it? Too exhausted to move anymore? His head sank forward again. Perhaps they would let him sleep now. They could carry on throwing the knives. He just wanted to sleep.

Thud. He did not flinch. But he could not sleep either.

He was aware of movement from the two men. He thought they were having another conversation. He was sure it was only the second time they had spoken to each other since the torment had begun. He thought he could make out footsteps moving away, out of the cellar.

He heard something metal being moved. The sound of scraping on the stone floor. A couple of footsteps towards him.

Cold water was thrown over him. Now he was awake. Shocked into full awareness. He gasped through the gag. Breathing as hard as he could. He did not realise being soaked with water could be such a painful experience. He began shivering immediately.

Fully alert again, he waited for the thud of the knife, but nothing happened. The room had gone silent and still again. Only his gasping breathes filled the void. He waited.

And waited.

MMMM

Athos and Porthos hurried after Marcel. The young man led them quickly to the spot where Guy was waiting, watching a house. As they came to halt Athos looked at the young man, not needing to ask the obvious question.

'I've not seen any further movement.'

'Good,' growled Porthos. Athos could tell the big man was wound tight with the need to get into the house and getting d'Artagnan back. From the brief description Marcel had given it seemed their young friend was being used in some sort of sadistic target practice by two men.

'We'll go in quietly,' said Athos, staring pointedly at Porthos, who reluctantly nodded, 'you two hang back, the cellar will be too crowded with all of us down there, but be ready if we call you.'

The cadets nodded. With all of them ready Athos advanced towards the house. They did not want to wait.

MMMM

When the men started talking normally, it sounded very loud after the hours of silence.

'He's gone,' said one.

'Damn,' the other said, 'this one's nearly finished. I wanted to play with the other one as well.'

'Just finish him off, we'll get another tonight.'

D'Artagnan had mixed feeling about their brief conversation. He was so exhausted the thought of the torment ending had some attraction. He waited for whatever was to come next.

MMMM

Once the others had left, Aramis had sat for a few more minutes assessing his head injury. The headache was still evident. He knew he should not do anything too strenuous. But, the very least he could do was prepare the infirmary. He slowly swung his legs off the bed. He stood shakily, grabbing hold of the wall for support. He wavered, dizziness washing over him, wondering if this was perhaps not such a good idea. It would not help anyone if the others returned with an injured d'Artagnan and found him in a crumpled heap on the floor.

The dizzy spell passed and he was able to focus again. He pushed away from the wall and slowly made his way over to a cupboard where they kept medical supplies. Slowly, methodically, he collected the various things he thought they might need.

It was the least he could do for his friend. Once finished, he sat on the edge of his bed, and waited.

MMMM

There was movement, lots of movement. A shout, from someone and then the sound of boots on the cellar steps. His attempts to work out what was happening were cut short by a searing pain, worse than the previous times he had been hit by the knives. This time the knife had not just nicked his skin, this time it was embedded in him. He could not really tell where it had hit him. His senses were being assaulted with sounds and pain and fear.

He was confused.

He thought someone was talking to him, he flinched when he was touched. It felt odd to be touched. How long had it been since he was touched? The closest he had come to contact with his captors had been when they wiped, what he guessed were, the bloody blades on him.

He felt heavy, his arms fell to his sides. He could not support his own weight. He slumped forward, but did not hit the floor. Someone had grabbed him and turned him gently to lean back on their chest. He could feel them breathing hard behind him. It felt oddly reassuring. The hands were untangling the rope from his wrists.

He wanted to move but could not, he was no longer restrained but he just did not have the strength, he had worked out that whoever had him was helping him but he could not help himself.

When the blindfold was removed he screwed his eyes shut. The brightness of the room shocked him. He had been closeted in the darkness for so long it hurt when the light hit him. Whoever had hold of him clearly realised and shielded his eyes with their hand.

They pulled the gag from his mouth, causing him to cough. Soft words were spoken to him, but he could not work out what was being said, he felt disorientated, which he supposed, was only to be expected.

He felt a water skin pushed gently against his lips, he allowed himself to be given some water. Enough to take away the taste of the gag and coat his dry throat with its welcome coolness.

All that had happened in the last few minutes told him he was safe, he began to relax, he closed his eyes. As he drifted off to a welcome darkness he was aware of continued activity around him, movement and noise.

MMMM

Porthos continued to cradle d'Artagnan's limp form as Athos checked him for any other injuries. The knife wound to his leg was perhaps not as serious as they had first thought. Athos had tightly bound the wound after pulling the small knife out.

D'Artagnan was covered in small cuts and slices from the knives. Only the wound to his leg and possibly the one on his arm would need stitches.

Porthos looked about the cellar. The bodies of the two men lay where they had fallen, easily taken out by them as they entered the room. Athos had made the correct decision to enter quietly. They had taken the men by surprise. One had time to throw a final knife at d'Artagnan hitting him in the leg whilst the other had wildly thrown one in Porthos' direction, hitting his shoulder. It would need stitches but it could wait for now. Athos had quickly applied a field dressing to the wound.

D'Artagnan had been tied to a wooden wall, his arms pulled out to the side. His head hanging down, no attempt being made to support his own weight. Knives were sticking out of the wall around him. It was evident from the marks on the wall that over time, the knives had been thrown at the wall thousands of times. Porthos wondered what had become of the previous victims.

Guy trotted down the first few steps of the cellar, 'I've borrowed a horse and cart to take him back to the garrison.'

'Good lad,' said Porthos, as Athos crouched beside them to help carry their young friend out of the cellar.

Getting d'Artagnan away from this place was all he wanted to do. The young man had endured too much here already.

MMMM


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Aramis was grateful that neither Porthos or Athos said anything about his preparations. He had told them he would not move from his bed, but he was standing by the next bed indicating for them to lay the unconscious d'Artagnan down.

'Knife wounds,' said Athos, 'most do not look too serious. The one on his leg is the worst, it will need stitching.'

Aramis nodded, he looked at Porthos, taking in the dressing on his shoulder. The big musketeer shook his head, he could wait. Aramis nodded again and returned his attention to d'Artagnan as Athos was busy cutting the man's breeches off so that they could deal with the wound on his leg.

They worked quickly and quietly, d'Artagnan did not stir, he looked exhausted. He was shivering, cold, they stripped off his bloody shirt and covered him in blankets, much as Porthos had done with Aramis earlier. Athos cleaned the leg wound as Aramis readied a needle and thread. As he stitched the wound shut, Athos cleaned the other cuts and bound the worst ones to keep them clean.

The door to the infirmary opened. A half-finished conversation between Treville and the physician broke the relative quiet.

'I do not think you need to tell them…'

'They have a right to know,' said Treville firmly.

Treville entered, followed by the physician. The physician took one look at the scene, saw that the injured man was being dealt with and turned to leave. He looked sombre and clearly did not want to be there. Treville did not even argue with the man.

'Tell them what?' asked Athos.

'We found the bodies of the other victims.'

All three conscious musketeers looked up. Aramis paused his stitching, he was nearly finished, the wound had stopped bleeding.

'They were all fit healthy young men…some had been treated in the same way as d'Artagnan, and some had just been beaten, and they were all,' Treville paused a look of disgust crossing his features, '…they had all been molested.'

Aramis looked away and let out a shaky breath. He glanced down at the still form of d'Artagnan, thoughts of what could have happened to his young friend and possibly himself rushing though his mind. He felt Porthos move closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze, to offer reassurance. He was grateful. He went back to his stitching in an attempt to focus on something else.

Treville continued, 'the house was full of…torture equipment, those men must have been…' he paused, struggling to find the words again, 'sick of the mind. It was, frankly disgusting. I like to think I am open minded, but what they appeared to want to do was just…wrong.'

Aramis continued stitching, he did not really want to listen anymore. He did not notice Treville leave them alone.

As Aramis had worked he did not noticed Porthos place a chair behind him. It was only when he found himself being forced to sit down, that he realised he had been swaying slightly. He looked up at Porthos and Athos who were both eyeing him with concern.

'I'm fine, I can do this,' he said by way of reassurance.

Once he had finished he sat back. Porthos pushed a cup of water into his hands, with a stern look. Aramis took the cup and drank to placate his friend. He handed the cup back to Porthos who placed it down with a thud on the table.

They all looked back at d'Artagnan when he visibly jumped.

MMMM

'D'Artagnan?' asked Aramis quietly, gently touching his uninjured shoulder.

The young man did not move, Porthos looked at Athos puzzled. Athos looked over at the cup on the table and nodded towards it. Porthos understood, he picked it up and placed it down again firmly, making the same thudding noise.

D'Artagnan flinched again.

Porthos shook his head, furious. The sound of the cup on the table must have caused the reaction in the young man, even in his unconscious state. They began to get an idea of what he had been through, all those hours tied to the wall in the cellar.

Aramis looked up saying quietly, 'I'm not sure if we should be really quiet or not.'

'It's been too quiet…please don't be quiet.'

Porthos took a step forward as d'Artagnan slowly opened his eyes. He blinked a few times before focusing on Aramis. He opened his mouth to speak, but Aramis beat him to it.

'I'm fine. They found me, it's not so bad, only bruising,' he said, managing a smile at the obviously concerned man.

'Do you want to tell us what happened?' asked Athos.

D'Artagnan turned to him, 'I will, but I'm just so tired.'

'When you are ready then…we'll keep talking if you want,' said Aramis, 'I think they want to tell me off anyway.'

D'Artagnan managed a smile, before closing his eyes again.

MMMM

'I'm sorry,' said Aramis.

'What for?' asked Porthos.

'This,' he replied indicating d'Artagnan, 'if we hadn't been out drinking this wouldn't have happened.'

'Don't blame yourself, you idiot. They've been doing it for a while now, you should've see the marks on the wall. You two weren't the first and wouldn't have been the last either.'

Athos watched the exchange from his seat beside d'Artagnan. Porthos was sat on one of the other beds with Aramis stood next to him stitching his shoulder wound. Athos was wryly amused by the way Porthos winced each time the needle was pushed through his skin. Under normal circumstances he would have made a fuss about the pain, but he was clearly holding back for Aramis' sake.

And the marksman was clearly on the point of collapse himself, Athos had made eye contact with Porthos and pointedly glanced up at Aramis. Porthos nodded imperceptibly. He was ready should the stubborn musketeer fall.

Athos sat forward slightly as Aramis did indeed sway dramatically when he had finished the stitching. Porthos had his good arm around his friend's waist before he could travel very far. He pulled Aramis down to sit on the bed next to him. Keeping hold of him until he was steady again.

'I think, if you needed to be punished for allowing our young friend to have too much to drink, you have managed to do so all on your own,' said Athos quietly, 'rest. Now. We can keep an eye on him…and you will be next to him anyway.'

Aramis nodded contritely and allowed Porthos to manoeuvre him back onto his bed. He lay back and shut his eye, the energy he had enjoyed whilst working with purpose on his friend leaving him.

Athos studied Porthos, who looked full of rage, for a moment before saying, 'the men who did this are dead, they won't be attacking anyone else.'

'I know. But the thought of what could've happened…'

'It did not, and they will both be fine,' said Athos firmly.

MMMM

A few hours later Porthos placed a bottle of wine on the table in the tavern. D'Artagnan had wanted noise, and this was the only place he had suggested. Despite still being tired the young musketeer had struggled to sleep in the relative calm of the garrison infirmary. Aramis had been a bit shocked at the suggestion, but Porthos had pointed out that between Athos and himself d'Artagnan stood a better chance of not getting attacked again.

They had explained to d'Artagnan what had happened with the other victims. Porthos thought he took the news well, better than Aramis had done. But Aramis felt responsible. It had taken d'Artagnan quite some time to convince the marksman it was not his fault and that he was just as responsible for drinking too much and leaving them vulnerable. Aramis had eventually acquiesced.

D'Artagnan was sat with his back to the wall of the tavern, they had allowed him to pick his seat. They wanted him to be as comfortable as possible and to feel safe. He had described what had happened, how he had endured the lengthy silences, which explained his wish for the buzz of constant sound that the tavern provided.

Porthos had looked questioningly at Aramis when he had made to join them, but the expression on his face said he was not being left behind. It was probably a mixture of not wanting to leave d'Artagnan's side and not wanting to be alone himself.

Whilst Athos had kept close to d'Artagnan on the walk through the streets, Porthos had watched over Aramis, who was still a bit shaky. Porthos suspected the marksman still had a headache and this outing was not going to do him any favours.

They had been sat for a few minutes. D'Artagnan had visibly relaxed and was soon leant back and slightly to the side resting his shoulder against Aramis. It had not taken long for d'Artagnan to fall asleep. Porthos had looked at Athos and smirked.

'Well this has to be the oddest place to bring someone to help them fall asleep,' he said.

'Particularly, when neither of them have had a drink this time,' replied Athos nodding towards Aramis who had also shut his eyes and appeared to be asleep as well.

'I doubt either of them will for a bit,' said Porthos grabbing the bottle and pouring them each a cup of wine, 'and to be honest, I wouldn't blame them.'

The End.

Authors note: Thanks for all the great reviews. I hope you enjoyed it.


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